


Start Running, Never come back

by CharlyImperial, Daeg



Series: Triumvirate [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlyImperial/pseuds/CharlyImperial, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daeg/pseuds/Daeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke had ran because he had nothing to leave behind. </p><p>Anders wanted to run but he could not. He had too much holding him back.</p><p>And all Fenris wanted was to stop running and face his fears, but he lacked the courage to do so.</p><p>First arc of Triumvirate, one waits, another runs, and the last one has to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Running, Never come back

**Author's Note:**

> We're back, with a prequel this time.
> 
> This is based off a roleplay of ours that started half a year ago. There are a few things to take into account.
> 
> First, neither of us are native English speakers. So if something is amiss, you know why. Translations are at the end.
> 
> Secondly, this series will end up with a special pairing. For now, enjoy what the tags tell you.
> 
> And lastly, Anders here, is from the Anderfels (as this was planned before the book came out). As such, his first language is not Trade.

9:34 Kirkwall, Hightown

 

If it hadn’t been for the rustle of leather and metal, Garrett would have never woken up when he did. Perhaps his guest would have left as silently as he could, abandoning the room in the quiet of the night, leaving him not knowing what had happened until he woke up the next morning.

 

Perhaps he would have been woken up by a cold metal hand, startling him from his dreams as surely as a demon’s embrace would, and Garrett would have lost the fog of his sleep to a reality he did not wish to face.

 

But the metal clinked again, this time against stone, and immediately all traces of rest left the man’s face as he turned to find the origin of the noise.

 

In that split second, before his eyes caught the shape near the fireplace, the coolness of the bed was a warning as to who it was. Garretts brain caught that much as he turned.

 

He also realized that there was little chance Fenris was simply warming himself next to the fire. Even if the elf’s skin colour wasn’t enough to deduce he belonged in some warmer climate, the way he’d shake and curse at Kirkwall’s weather was a sure way to know it.

 

So, while the elf might be trying to keep warm… He could just as easily done it by scooting closer to his sleeping body, without his armour and sword on.

 

“Was it that bad?”

 

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, the telltale of a nervous laugh eating at the end of the last word. He immediately berated himself for it.

 

Just as the words had left Garrett´s mouth, the elf sighed and turned around to face him with an anxious expression.

 

The heavy silence that had filled the room for quite a while was now over and the elf seemed aware he had to explain himself.  
  
“I´m sorry.” He sighed, gesturing with his hands, as if looking for words. “It´s not... It was fine.”

  
The elf sighed again, showing him exactly how hard it was to force the confession out.   
  


Garrett was sure the words were not meant to hurt his ego, but he cast his eyes down all the same. Had he misunderstood the elf somehow? It seemed like he was pulling nails just by telling him this.  
  


Upon realizing that his words seemed to be clumsily chosen, Fenris shook his head, taking a step back from what he had just said.

  
“That was... Not what I meant to say.” The Tevinter corrected himself. “It was better than anything I could have wished for.” He seemed pleased with his choice now, and even though Fenris still chewed at his bottom lip, never really meeting the man’s eyes, Garrett felt like the tentative barrier he had placed between them was cracking.

 

“It can be a lot to take in, I know.” Garrett spoke before he could help himself, again hoping it would ease whatever nervousness the elf seemed to be suffering from with one of his crude jokes.

 

This… Was not what he had expected. The elf had been passionate just a few hours ago, accepting their kiss and consequently initiating all of their night together. Garrett knew he had problems… He had felt his stomach tighten every time the elf still avoided his eyes, lowered his head even as he spoke enthusiastically, when he told him to ‘command him’... It was obvious that he was troubled by more than just what he let others on, but he had expected some kind of epiphany during their trip upstairs, Maker, even as they reached the bedroom.

 

Not now, after everything had happened.

  
  
He had a feeling that if Fenris was able to look away even more than he was right then, he would do it. His tasteless joke only made the elf turn away from him completely, walking up and down the room and waving his hands in search for the right words.

  
  
“It’s not that.” The elf huffed, and surprisingly, he didn’t actually sound annoyed, but also did not sound amused nor happy about it. He seemed to be building up courage to be honest then, trying to explain what was bothering him that whole time.

  
  
The elf spoke of how he had started to remember flashes of his old life. Memories that had come back to him. That  they had been there but for a moment, solidifying in his mind, only to be lost again. Like trying to catch fog with his bare hands.

  
  
The elf seemed to need to show him how upsetting this was and that he could not imagine how this had happened in the first place. Garrett let him speak, even though he believed every word, not wanting to cut his speech. He knew he still had trouble talking back at people.

 

But then Fenris, never once meeting his eyes, lifted his finger and shook his head.   
“It’s too much. Too fast. I can’t do _this_...”

 

Garrett sat up, heart beating fast in his chest. He was all for letting Fenris vent, of course, but the conversation seemed to be taking a fatalistic turn.

 

Towards him.

 

“Don’t you want to get your memories back?” he asked, leaning forward on the bed in a way he hoped was non-threatening. He had to hold himself back, he couldn’t not scare Fenris away, not after all this…

 

He knew it was too much to hope that somehow that thought would bring Fenris back to him. Sex was not something he wanted to exchange with Fenris at the price of his lost memories, especially if they distressed him so much. But he had nothing else at the moment.

 

Fenris turned away again, still not looking at him. He made a sound not unlike a dejected sigh.  
“You don’t understand how upsetting this is. For a moment I could recall it all… Names, Faces… And to have it all come back in a rush... Only to lose it!”  
  
The elf shook his head, shoulders slumping. The inevitability of what was about to happen hit him before he could react. It covered his heart in molasses - forcing it to beat heavy and too slow - leaving him unable to breathe.

  
Fenris turned around again, body posed to leave, as if he could not stand another second there, as if his explanation had ended.

  
“I can’t.” He said again. “I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool.”   
  
For one flash of a moment he looked at Hawke’s face, but couldn’t hold his gaze for very long.

  
“All I wanted was to be happy. Just for a little while… Forgive me.” Were the elf’s last words before he did his final turn and walked out of the room.

 

It seemed he was done with his explanation. He had not run, but faced Hawke as well as he could. There was nothing more to offer.

 

He left behind a silent man staring at the fire, wondering what else could have been done and getting no answers.

 

_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:30 Dragon, Waking Sea

 

There was a time when running had been the only thing in his mind.

 

For years and years he had gotten his hands on everything he could to ease his way out of places.

 

A childhood passed running on hills and climbing trees, sliding and jumping his way through nature. Books with spells to crack stone, splint wood and bend metal, men willing to teach the ways of locks and keys for a few well earned favours, a silent step careful enough to carry him through the night.

 

He had planned on running until his breath gave out, until there was a sword between his lungs or old age eating at his fingers.

 

Things had changed, he had to admit. But then destiny, or the Maker, whatever decided to give him breath and then keep toying with him, took him and made him run again.

 

Except it was harder this time. Whereas before he had no trouble taking coin for a warmer night, no matter how badly scarred the face, how tactless the words or how rough the hands, he now had a very opinionated company who did not allow for such things.

 

It made his way running difficult, bad leg or not. There was no coin, no food. Not even when the apple had fallen behind, the voice still nagged at him to pick it and, no, not to eat, no matter how hungry he was, but to give it back.

 

Kindness was little and even non-existent when his hands glowed and blood stopped, fever passed, bones mended.

 

And during those calm moments, when food was fairly given, his hands still fought to search for the needy, to give it away to who else in this world could have it worse than him.

 

It was a hard existence, but Anders could hardly recall anything else.

 

He had had to push, to yell and scream inside his own mind to chose where his feet would take them, to justify his needs and wants, and make them align with what was most assuredly a life he would never have chosen for himself, even with all the running.

 

That’s how he found himself crossing the Waking Sea.

 

The Blight had taken so many, and yet it seemed many more had managed to run away. He felt the need to help, be it from his nature as a healer or from Justice’s incessant chatter, he followed the refugees.

 

It took kindness to pay for his trip this time. A woman with eyes too old and too worried to care for the curse of the Maker, who had seen the way he shook and panted, but still kept calling, kept healing, paying no mind to those who still in their bigotry called for Templars even as the boats left and even more people were left behind.

 

She had spoken to him, weary as a cat, ready to strike in case he moved too fast. Together they had stayed behind, mending and helping those who were being turned away from safe passage, until the shores were empty of all but those who had already left this life and would not journey further.

 

There he made his choice, an impulse allied with a need for Justice. A lover torn from his arms, a feeling still understood by the spirit inside him. He would follow and help, and if all was right, he would be just, and free another from the shackles of oppression.

 

As the towering buildings of the City of Chains appeared on the horizon, Anders could only hope he would keep running.

 

_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:30 Dragon, Kirkwall, The Gallows

 

The first thing he expected once they docked that night certainly wasn’t a pair of arms pulling him back, hiding him from sight.

 

There was a line, Maker, an army of people in the Gallows. The fact that they were forced to go through the circle to enter the city was a sure tell his stay here would be less than pleasant, if not less than temporary.

 

It was amazing that even in times of need people were still weedling out who should or not be given safe harbour.

 

“You will keep quiet.” he heard the voice say. Had the hands not been worn and soft, and the chest behind him unarmoured, he was sure his passenger would have made himself known.

 

As it was, Justice barely stirred, too offended with the treatment the city guard and the templars were giving the refugees.

 

“Follow me, boy.”

 

By then he knew the voice by heart. Lirene, the woman said she was called. She’d been kind to him, fed him, forced him to stop when Justice pushed too hard. He was sure her annoyance at him now was more because he seemed reckless than because he was a mage.

 

He did as she wished, trailing behind her until the murmur of the crowd was lost.

 

Another crowd awaited him near the end of the docks, closed tight and serious looking. For a moment doubt sparked in his mind, and Justice readied itself to fight.

 

“That the one?” One man asked, speaking quietly to Lirene, but still looking at him.

 

“The herbalist I told you of.” the woman answered in kind, turning to him as he stopped, eyes hard but still assuring him he could follow.

 

The murmur began anew, quieter this time. One of the men was a guard, and most seemed to be speaking to him.

 

“‘Right. I gots a band of people tell me you pulled half of them into a boat yerself.” he man spoke, and Anders felt his back straighten. The accent was thick and the struggled to understand what he was saying.

 

“Other half claimed yer their nephew. I’m guessing ye can only have as m’ny uncles.” the man said, not finding the situation as entertaining as he made it sound.

 

 _Arschloch_ , Anders did not find it funny at all.

 

The man seemingly had expected him to say something. But he was too nervous to speak and somehow butcher these people’s attempts at creating extended family. His nerves would set his accent off, he was sure.

 

“Not to mention yer nose isn’t exactly from these parts.” the man growled again. “And that hair. Ya blasted idiots must think the Captain’s blind if ya think he’ll believe he’s a dog lord.”

 

The commotion started again, and Anders clenched his fists. He was better off not saying a thing anyway.

 

“Doesn’t change the fact this man can assist the refugees.” another woman said, cleaning her hands on her apron. “And you have a precious lack of that.”

 

That seemed to mollify the Guard somewhat. The voices began to rise, some people claiming sickness, while others simply made noise.

 

“Enough!” the guard called, voice furious. “Right, ya bloody mongrels.” Justice flared at the insult.

 

He took a scroll from his back, followed by a plume that had seen better days, and opened it.

 

“Name.” he asked, stabbing the paper with the tip of the feather. “I havn’t got all day.”

 

Anders looked at Lirene, feeling his palms sweating. The woman looked back, startled for a moment, as if she had not thought this far ahead.

 

“I… Anders-” he mumbled, feeling the vowels twist awkwardly in his mouth.

 

The guard stared at him, gobsmacked. Anders clenched his fists, knowing he’d made a mistake. He should not give names, much less one he was known for. He needed to get in and out of the city as fast as he could.

 

“Yer bloody jokin’ man!”

 

Embarrassment burned his cheeks and he floundered, unable to recall the words in Trade to continue speaking.

 

“Autteberry.” Lirene spoke suddenly, breaking him from his paralysis. “Anders Auttenberry and I’d appreciate it if you did not make fun of his last name as well.” she admonished, crossing her arms.

 

Strangely, everyone else seemed to take the same stance, glaring at the guard as if daring him to say anything else.

 

“That’s two t’s, ma’m?” he asked through his teeth.

 

“Right you are.” was her reply as she placed a hand on his back and pushed him forward.

 

Anders was sure he could hear the man’s quiet curses behind him still and secretly admired how Lirene had talked him down.

  
  
Given how everybody had insisted to let the ‘herbalist’ in, Anders had an idea of how badly he was needed in this city.

  
  
There were refugees everywhere. He could see people coughing and some badly treated wounds, just looking left and right. Justice was furious in his mind.

  
  
The city was steadily sending half of them away again, back to their destroyed homes that were overrun by the Darkspawn. There was no Justice needed to make Anders angry about this.

  
  
The insides of the City itself didn’t look any better but still Lirene kept pushing him into the lowest of low that this pit had to offer.

  
  
Anders assumed not all in need of his talents were refugees, and he couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. He knew Lirene had not gone through all of this trouble to shove him here for just showing off.

  
  
A little girl ran into him, probably aiming to speak at the woman beside him, but instead of a sound he just heard a cough - and the healer knew what that kind of cough meant.

  
  
Lirene, with her knowing eyes, could see the immediate change in his face, and placing her hand gently on the child’s head. she he shoved him and the girl into a empty alley.

  
  
It was dangerous to cast magic, of course. Even a few minutes in the city were enough to let him see a dozen of Templars circulating. Amazing how at moments like this the Chantry guard was still patrolling cities instead of fighting where the true battle was.

  
But Justice and his own moral-understanding pushed him to do what he knew was right and so soon the little girl, eyes bright and breath even, was running  back out through the streets.

  
  
Had he only known what he had started there.

  
  
To his surprise, the refugees, who either by word of mouth, or simply by looking carefully, did not run to the Templars upon realizing a mage was amongst them, but rather to him to seek help.

  
  
Soon enough, as belatedly he realized this was expected, Anders found himself surrounded by people.The patients never ended and he feared that the attention would soon enough be on him, and not so much on his ‘donations’ to the needy.

  
  
It was only after a while that he realized those people were keeping his secret. If Templars happened to pass by, and Maker did his heart ever beat fast at that, they would walk away as if no one had even told them of him.

  
When Templars would ask, he himself had heard the refugees lie and not say a word about the healer in the city.

  
  
Anders was touched by this, even though he understood they did this out of desperation. They needed him and could not afford to lose him at the moment.

  
  
Soon, thought, the supplies and space became something that was rare and precious. Healing because dangerous, and not even the close guarded secret of the Ferelden people would last if a Templar or a Kirkwaller saw them.

 

There was no time to sleep and eat properly, much less to find Karl. His food was passed over every time Lirene looked the other way, and few other people had the decency to deny his starvation in favour of others.

 

Worse. People here were always in need. Every day more rabble became sick, more refugees slithered through the Gallows and every night he healed away, hoping his name would not show up on any Templar’s list.

 

He needed to think and plan.

 

Things needed to change.

  
_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:31 Kirkwall, Darktown

 

Garrett had had it with the bloody glares. It was one thing to move around in Hightown and get the pompous nobles starting at him as if he had grown out of a pile of shit, another when he was at the lowest of low and still people still gave him such vicious looks.

 

Darktown was a mess. He had thought that after Lowtown things couldn’t get, well, any lower. But it seemed he was wrong.

 

‘Had he need enough’ right. The bloody bowels of the city were filled with people and crap. No light in sight. Carver had yet to shut up as well, so his mood was definitively not improving.

 

He was going to need to ask around, dammit.

 

“That looks like our stop.” Thank the Maker for Varric. The dwarf was the only thing keeping him sane.

 

And sure enough there it was, a lit lantern, right at the end of the boardwalk. Certainly far enough that one would only wander in here if they truly wanted to.

 

“Let’s get this over with.” A Warden and a healer. Garrett had to admit he was curious and impressed. Carver had spoken of the Wardens while at Ostagar, but they certainly did not seem like the kind of people that would mingle with the needy.

 

He at least finally knew why the refugees seemed to be guarding the man like hounds. The man was a mage.

 

He could not help a smirk when he saw the man’s hands glowing. It had been such a long time since he had seen another mage. Perhaps this was something they could build up on.

 

The man’s looks were certainly helping. He looked exhausted, a dirty with blood and grime, but Maker, he was a looker. He could tell Carver was not happy with this, be it because of the man’s magic or his Garrett’s telltale smile, his hand was reaching for his sword.

 

There was a nice compliment about to leave his lips when the Warden turned, hand flying to his staff and he turned a glare on them.

 

“I have made this a place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?”

 

The words were spoken with such conviction and force, Garrett could swear they echoed. The man’s looks might not fit the description of a Warden, but his stance and speech certainly did.

 

He put his hands up. “I’m just here to talk.” He started lamely, losing his wit.

 

Thankfully Varric was quick to intercede “We’re interested in getting into the deep roads, rumour has it you were a Warden and know a way-”

 

The man’s frown grew. “Did the Wardens send you to bring me back? I’m not going.”

 

He was transfixed by the man. He was tall and lean, hair a shade of blonde he hadn’t seen before, and Maker, those eyes...

 

He only belatedly realized he wasn’t paying attention. Or at least he thought he wasn’t.

 

“You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot? In the deep roads?” he asked, almost doubting his hearing.

 

The man seemed a bit affronted at the question. “He was a gift. A noble beast.” he answered, voice hard, as if daring him to doubt.

 

The man’s tale continued and Garrett found himself smiling again. There was something about this man, the way he spoke about the cat. He liked him.

 

“So… You came to Kirkwall to escape the Wardens? I thought it was for life?” he asked. So many questions were popping in his mind from just talking to him. Varric had seemed intrigued as well. Carver was the only one grumbling about hurrying it up.

 

“Well, not exactly…”

 

Still, he was truly interested, and had they not been in such a hurry and need of information, he would have pressed harder. As it was he needed an opening, something to convince the man to help them.

 

“And some reasons of my own.”

 

There it was.

 

“I’m part of an expedition to the deep roads.” The man was a healer, wasn’t he? Perhaps he could use that as well. “Any information you have can save people’s lives.”

 

The man immediately began to list off so very good reasons why they should not go there. Garrett knew he’d have to find an opening to get through that. “How about your reasons?” he asked, forcing the man to stop. “If there’s anything we can offer in exchange?”

 

By then he had seen the man eyeing his staff curiously. He caught his gaze and smiled, hoping it was enough for him to trust him at the moment.

 

A tentative smile crossed his features and Garrett knew he had him.

 

“How about… A favour for a favour.” he mage said, and Garrett crossed his arms, knowing he’d gotten somewhere.

 

“Let’s be more specific. I won’t do anything involving children or animals.”

 

There was a look of disbelief from the man, as if he had actually believed him for a second, or misunderstood. Then he actually laughed, just a tiny chuckle.

 

It made Garrett feel things.

 

“Maker, you-” he seemed to fumble for a while with something to say, before he became serious again, but his stance was more relaxed. “Right. I have a map to the deep roads. I will give it to you for a price.”

 

He frowned then, as if thinking twice about it. “I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage…” his eyes went to his staff once more, and Garrett nodded.

 

“He is in the Gallows, but I have been unable to get him out. The templars recently found of my plan and have… Made it difficult for me to contact him.”

 

This was something Garrett could sympathise with. “Tell me more of him.”

 

The mages’ eyes softened, and the way he spoke made Garret certain this friend… Was more than a friend.

 

Well. That did not mean he was heartless. He probably never stood a chance either way. Warden and what not.

 

Still, he needed to be careful. As much as he believed him, that the circle was a bad place, he need to be sure of what he was getting into. The man’s words were… Compelling. He hadn’t such an interesting and honest conversation in ages.

 

“Forcing mages into servitude is not the way to prevent the rising of another Imperium.” he said, causing Carver to roll his eyes.

 

He had not expected his honest opinion, something he gave away freely most of the time, to be taken… So well. The man flushed, looking at him in with pleased surprise in his eyes. Perhaps he could find the time to convince him more… In the Future.

 

He silenced Carver before he could ruin this. “So… Anders is it? Name’s Garrett Hawke.” He said, shifting their conversation a bit. “Your terms seem more than reasonable. And I’m always willing to help a fellow mage. Even if it seems to include the bucket heads.”

 

It seemed the mage was getting speechless. Garrett would prefer to think it was because of his dashing good looks, but it rather seemed as if he had never had a person agree with him before. That was strangely sad.

 

“Yes… Meet me tonight at the chantry. I have send word. Maker willing, we will all be free men.”

He liked him. Liked him a lot.

 

He would have stayed there some more, if the man did not seem to be trying to flee from him at the moment, a bit broken between looking at him in astonishment and eyeing the refugees entering the clinic for healing.

 

“It’s a date.” he agreed, once again making the man flush. Oh, he was terribly sweet.

 

Fortunately Carver and Varric pulled him from there before he could coo at him. But by the Maker, he was interested.

 

_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:29 Antiva, White Spire

 

Every night was the same. He’d close an eye, then the other, and soon the telltale of footsteps would come.

 

And every night his room would be empty, save for bloodstains and the dead bodies he left behind. He would hide outside, under the sky, had the moonlight not made his markings shine and his hair seem starker against the dark of the night.

 

It was safer to sleep during the day anyway. When people went about their business and hardly looked anywhere but at their own noses. At times like this he cursed his appearance once again. Had it not been for that, no one would look at him twice.

 

He needed to stop though, and soon. He needed to wash his feet and eat, perhaps find some coin and make his way further south, where his name wasn’t whispered between thieves and assassins alike, where he could find his rest and finally stop running.

 

“ _Não foi isto que te pedi_!” he heard a man startle at the end of the alley where he rested. He had been in Antiva long enough to realize it wasn’t a native.

 

“ _Pero es lo que tienes ahora_.” This one was Antivan, and while he had never learned the language, it was similar enough to Tevine that he understood what was amiss.

 

He pulled his cloak closer to his body, even though it was too hot for him, and silently made his way to the men, keeping himself hidden.

 

“ _Vidro! Sem valor!_ ” the first man refuted, shaking his fist at the other one. “ _Prometeste-me cristal! Não vou regressar ao navio sem pagamento_!”

 

It was enough to understand the man had been cheated of something precious, but he understood why he used words and not actions. The Antivan man was surrounded by elves, and if he could guess, they were not simple servants.

 

Even here men ruled over elvhen, it seemed.

 

The Antivan and his guards ended up leaving the fuming man without further threats, probably knowing he would not be able to fight back.

 

This was his chance.

 

“Do you speak Trade?” he asked, keeping his head covered. The man startled, finally turning to him. A face full of golden hoops surprised him, and he almost took a step back.

 

“ _O quê_? Ah, who are you?” the man asked, switching seamlessly to Trade. “What did you want?” he asked, not looking very comfortable.

 

The elf scoffed, but he had not expected a different type of treatment. “I have heard you… Were cheated of payment.” he said, hoping he had understood correctly. “And that you have a ship.”

 

The man did not move much, though he appeared annoyed at being spied on. He took it as his chance to continue.

 

“I can provide you with a service, if you will, to aid the return of your due belongings.” he offered, slowly uncovering his head.

 

The man did not hide his surprise, be it at his appearance or at his race. “ _Um corvo_?”

 

Fenris did not react, understanding the word to be the correspondent to one he’d heard time and time again in the Antivan streets. No, he was not a Crow, but the man could make his own assumptions.

 

“I can offer you their heads or their hearts.” he spoke, pushing his clawed hand free from the cloak, so the man could see his armour. “And all you must do his provide me safe passage out of Antiva.”

 

“I am not going to Rivain.” he man spoke, looking to seriously be considering his offer. There was no reason not to. Assassinations were common here, and from elves? The man should count himself lucky. “Not yet anyway, my next stop is the Free Marches. And I will not stop in Rialto.”

 

Fenris smiled. That would put him in the sea for a long time. Enough for Danarius’ men to lose track of him.

 

“Through the Northern Passage?” he asked, closing his fist and hiding it again.

 

“ _Sim_ , and then through the Amaranthine Ocean.”

 

“I can leave the Antivan man alive so you can collect your payment.” he offered, sweetening the deal.

 

The man smiled, a golden tooth flashing as he extended his hand.

 

_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:31 Kirkwall, Alienage

  
  
Of course the box had been empty. There was nothing in there but air. Hawke sighed, wondering why he had even followed that hint in the first place. What a waste of time.

  
  
At least the day had started nicely, meeting that cute Healer in the clinic.

  
  
Now Garrett wanted nothing more but to go home and eat something before his meeting with the blond. But as they left the little house, they were surrounded by a bunch of soldiers with a foreign accent. 

  
They were not here for him, but clearly he had stepped into their trap.   
Luckily they were not the strongest enemies he and his companions had faced in those last couple of days, and quickly they were defeated.

  
  
Hawke rubbed some of the blood off his gauntlets, when one last soldier came down the stairs.   
Garrett really wasn’t impressed by this, but what made him freeze in place then was the hand that suddenly appeared from the man’s chest, ripping out the guy’s heart out.

  
  
Hawke immediately placed himself in front of his friends wondering how such a thing had just happened.

  
  
The man was not even dead yet, barely hitting the floor, when Hawke saw the most handsome elf he had ever seen. Surely, he was a bit scared by that guy’s ability to just take a man’s heart like it was nothing, but that did not stop him from looking.

  
  
“I apologize.” The elf said, and Garrett seized. That voice reminded him of something hot and dark, like melted chocolate, “When I asked for a distraction I didn’t realize there would be so many of the Soldiers.” the stranger continued.

  
  
Hawke wondered how he could ever be angry at a handsome face like his, paired with a voice to die for.

  
  
Still he watched the elf carefully, not knowing what he would do with them now.

  
  
“My name is Fenris.” The elf kept talking, and oh, Hawke didn’t mind him talking “These men were Imperial bounty hunters, here to collect a Magister’s lost property, namely myself.” The elf rolled his eyes as he explained the last part.

  
  
Garrett understood then, or at least parts of it, that this trap was meant to catch the elf and not him. The word ‘property’ gave him chills, since he realized that meant this elf was a slave and not just a common refugee. Probably one that had escaped his chains.

  
But wasn’t this quite a bit of work for one slave alone?

  
  
Hawke let his eyes wander over the other man’s body. Besides clearly being handsome, there was something odd about him. That white hair and those.. Tattoos?

  
  
“Let me guess, all that effort to catch one slave alone has something to do with those marks?” Garrett asked with a daring smile on his lips.

  
  
He feared the elf would take offence in this, but instead there was a tiny smirk and Fenris spread his arms a bit to better expose the glittering lines around his arms and neck.

  
  
“I assume I must look strange to you.” Fenris mumbled, shrugging, and then he began explaining.

  
Garrett was amazed that this elf just kept talking about how he had not received those marks on his own accord, only giving Garrett ideas about what this man must have gone through, and how, in fact, he was glad that Garrett had shown up to deal with the soldiers.

  
  
Hawke also got the idea that this elf, although not weak, was unsure of how the situation sat with them but was also very glad for their help.

  
  
“Why don’t you just run?” He had to ask, because it was the most obvious thing.

  
  
“There comes a time when you have to stop running and face the tiger.” Was the answer and Hawke couldn’t help but be impressed by it.

  
  
“If they truly were trying to capture you, I’m glad that I could help stop them.” Hawke smiled and was amused to see the elf shyly turn his head away and thank him for doing this without just being after personal rewards, giving him the idea this Fenris had not met the most kind people on his way until now. 

  
He watched Fenris walk over to the man he had just killed and look through his clothes, announcing that his former Master seemed to be in Kirkwall after all.

  
  
“I must confront him before he flees. I need your help.” Fenris asked then, meeting Garrett’s eyes this time.

  
  
Hawke found that incredible naive. Of course he had no ill intentions towards the elf, but other people might have had. If he truly wanted to, he could now play the cards against him and probably get a big reward off that former Master.

  
  
How lucky for Fenris that Garrett planned to actually help him out. He was against slavery of any kind and this elf had the most gorgeous green eyes... How could he not do it?  
  
“Sounds like you don’t intend to just talk.”

  
  
Fenris growled frustrated, waving his hand to the side, as if brushing away an annoying fly. He had never seen such an expressive way of talking before.  
“He sent so many hunters after me that I have lost count. He intents to strip the flesh from my bones to get his investment back. And before that he kept me on a leash like a Qunari Mage. A personal pet to mock Qunari custom!” The elf hissed angrily, “So yes... I intent to do more than just talk!”

  
  
Garrett felt a shiver run down his spine, wondering if the elf could so nicely growl at him in other situations as well. He would not mind that at all. Besides he could understand the anger, if what he had explained was indeed true.

  
  
“If this means killing more slavers, I’ll help you.”

 

  
One adventure more or less. What would that do? And maybe the elf would keep his word to repay him properly.

 

He had little to chose from but he would take what he got.  
  


_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:33 Kirkwall, Darktown

 

Had anyone told Garrett Hawke he would have had to abandon his home and that he’d end up rich, he would have told them to sleep the wine off and then continue shoveling shit for his family’s farm.

 

As it was, the only shit he shoveled was the one that was dumped on him by bandits on occasion. And sleeping things off had become a ritual for himself over the years.

 

Most of the time he was fine. The loss of his brother to the templars had made a dent on his life, as had Bethany’s death, but mostly he moved on.

 

Jobs were high paying and easy to come by, so he had little to complain about. Usually.

 

His love life… That was another story.

 

Try as he might, he always, always got the shy ones. Well, most people were a lot less open than Garrett was, but he liked to push until they were comfortable enough to be themselves around him. But these two… Maker give him patience.

 

Anders was painfully critical about everything he said, especially his looks, and although he blushed and mumbled after a compliment, he seemed to think he was always joking whenever Garrett flirted.

 

Fenris looked away, and he had realized that might not have that much to do with him, but with the way the elf was raised. He was awfully polite, and always managed a comeback, but the way he looked when he was talked to was painfully shy.

 

The fact that he flirted with both was not helping either. He flirted with everyone, true. Even Aveline. But he saved his soft smiles and cute endearments for just Anders and Fenris.   

 

And the two hated each other more than cats and dogs. Something that Garrett understood early on when they had met.

 

That did not stop him though.

 

“Anders!” he called, entering the empty clinic with a slam of doors that had the mage reaching for his staff with a worried look.

 

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke!” the healer called, but still smiled. “A little less noise next time, I could have burned you!”

 

The words did nothing to demotivate him. “You know I like an entrance.” he said, carrying his basket of goodies to the mage.

 

Anders never looked after himself, and he knew partially it was Justice’s fault. There was no time for anything but the very basics with the spirit, and still the man always assured him things were fine.

 

But, contrary to what had previously been said, Garrett had good eyes, and could see clearly what was happening to their healer.

 

It was painful to watch as Anders steadily got worse over the years. Everything from his skin to his hair seemed less healthy. And he knew the mage suffered with this, feeling even worse when he was complimented, not believing his words.

 

“Besides, I had told you I would be around today, or have your forgotten our date, gorgeous?”

 

There it was, that blush he loved. Quickly followed by a mumbled comment about his sight. Things never changed.

 

“Maker, Hawke, there was no need.” he started, but there was something in his eyes made him certain the man was grateful. “I already ate, and I’m sure you have other things to do.”

 

“You mean you barely ate, and barely rested.” he commented, reaching for the healer to pull him down on a cot. Just like any other time he tried comforting him, the mage tensed, not relaxing to his touch, but came all the same.

 

“I- I have rested.” he said, but the tremble of his voice gave away the lie.

 

“And now you will a bit more, yes?” he continued, pulling the man closer so he’d sit. “I have brought apples, and some nuts. Those’ll keep.” He knew Anders would give it all away once he was gone, but he would have to try.

 

The mage grabbed his tunic and started playing with it, not looking him in the eyes. Maker, if he knew how much he was like Fenris…

 

“Hey, now.” he called, daring to touch him again so he could turn his face. “None of that, you will eat, and rest a bit more.”

 

“Tell Justice you need this, Anders. Can’t- can’t you see you do?” he begged the healer, letting go of him before he overstayed his welcome.

 

“I… Yes.” the words seemed difficult to say, even as quiet and small as they were. “I know that.”

 

“See?” he continued, unwrapping one of his mother’s pies. The mage’s eyes widened, and a very loud growl made it known that whatever he had eaten before had not been enough.

 

The healer covered his stomach, blushing to his ears.

 

“Now, carrot cake.” he told him, opening the basket. “And a little bowl of stew, just for you.” he picked up the bowl and gave it to the other man, momentarily touching his hands. They were so dry and frail looking, he was afraid the man would hurt himself on the hot bowl.

 

“And you can tell me all about the clinic as we go.” he smiled, picking up an apple. “I’m dying to know who puked on who.”

 

And even if the mage never flirted back, or did more than blush, Garrett was happy to have this.

 

_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:33 Kirkwall, Hightown

 

Turns out, of course, that visiting one ‘friend’ had him visiting the other. This time the basket was full of wine, that Antivan red he knew Fenris liked.

 

He knocked at the door, being the gentleman he was, and proceeded inside before he got an answer, as was usual.

 

He walked over the corpses and made his way up, where he knew the elf usually was.

 

“Hello, handsome.” he called, hoping to catch him unaware. The elf was standing up, facing him and holding two glasses of wine in each hand.

“Oh, are those clean?” he asked, moving closer. The elf coughed, that little sound me made whenever he was embarrassed but did not want to show it. “Only the best for Hawke, right?”he teased.

 

Figuring he had embarrassed the elf enough he set the basket down, pulling one of the bottles out and opening it.

 

“Only the best, yes.” he heard the elf mutter,coming closer and setting the glasses down.

 

He felt giddy, usually they drank from the bottle, the elf seemingly not realizing how flustered and happy that left him, knowing he was sharing the same bottle that touched his lips. But this was improvement. The glasses looked expensive and they were very clean, which meant the had gone to the trouble to finding them and washing them.

 

Definitely an improvement.

 

“Now, I have some pie as well.” he said, pulling the food out. “Meat, hot still. Mother has been practicing.”

 

He supposed Fenris did not need to be taken care of like Anders, but he still wanted to be there for the elf. He lived here alone, and he knew he drunk more than he should most nights.

 

Besides, the elf was so naive sometimes it hurt. So shy and polite. He wanted to make sure he was alright.

 

“Ready for a trip down memory lane?” he asked, shoving a piece of pie towards the elf. “Where were we last time?”

 

The elf sat down slowly, as he always did when he was a bit flustered. “Antiva.” he said, his voice pulling Hawke’s attention immediately.

 

“Antiva.” he repeated, pouring them both a bit of wine. The elf took the glass and stirred the wine, looking at the liquid before taking it to his lips.

 

Garrett watched that throat work, silently grateful for their time together.

 

“I believe I was telling about my run in with the Crows?” the elf spoke, lips finally twisting into a smile. And just like that the tension was gone, and Garrett enjoyed another night in the company of his friend.

  
  
_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

9:34 Kirkwall, Hightown

  
  
Hawke was worried. So very worried. After the death of this Hadriana woman, Fenris had just rushed out of the cave.

  
  
That’s what he always did, no matter how much he spoke of facing his fears. The elf ran, never looking back, ignoring any chance to continue forward. So when Hawke returned home and changed into his pajamas, he had not expected Fenris to come in wait for him in his entrance Hall.

  
  
He had not expected Fenris to apologize for lashing out at him just as he he had not expected him to growl angrily at him just moments after.

  
  
No, of course Fenris would not forgive and forget. Hadriana had humiliated him, used him like a thing and of course the proud elf would not forgive her for that. But now she was dead and still Fenris was upset.

  
  
They had even fought, although Fenris had wanted to come by to apologize.

 

Garrett felt bad for this, not wanting the elf to leave just then. He wanted to give him some kind of comfort, words, a hug - anything.

  
  
But instead of giving him the chance, the elf just turned from him, sad and with a sigh about how this had not been why he was here.

  
  
The next words leaving Fenris’ lips left his mind reeling.

 

“Command me to go, and I shall.”

  
  
The sentence caused a shiver to go up his body, and he stared wide eyed at the elf in front of him.

 

The Tevinter looked like he was out of his mind for a moment. Only to then back away, scared and confused with he had said.

  
He was so terribly sweet like this, but at the same time so hurt and vulnerable. There was nothing of the ice cold Fenris left, but it still left him uncomfortable. The elf was still so bound to what had been done to him, and it pained them both.

  
But he couldn’t just let him leave like this. Garrett wasn’t thinking when he grabbed the elf and pressed his lips against him.

  
  
No, he didn’t just kiss him, he turned him around, pressed him against a wall and kissed him again. He should have been more careful, should have asked before.

 

But the elf wasn’t fighting him. He pulled back for a second, expecting a punch, a slap, words of disgust and regret, but the only thing he got was Fenris’ lips on his again, his slender body pressed against him, arms wrapping around him.

  
Distantly Garrett thought of Anders. Of their nights and days eating together and smiling, as he fed the mage and hoped one day he’d open up a bit more. But he wished for too much.  
  
Fenris was here now, practically melting against him, grabbing him tightly. Hot breath against his skin.

  
  
And even though Fenris turned his head away shyly, he didn’t signal him to stop. So Hawke used the chance to press a few kisses against the elf’s slender neck, tasting the salty, warm skin on his tongue.

  
  
“Upstairs... Maker, upstairs!” Was all Garrett managed to breathe against the skin, pulling Fenris away from the wall and up with him.

  
  
They nearly fell down, clumsily kissing and fumbling for each other's clothes while they moved.

  
They didn't pay attention to anything else, eyes on only on each other and on every little bit of skin that was freed.   
  


Garrett pulled back, staring at the elf slowly coming undone before him. His metal plate had fallen to the ground, leaving his tunic free to be taken off. He almost did not believe his eyes when he pulled at it, letting the fabric fall open, exposing the elf’s chest.

 

“Maker, you are handsome.” he muttered, reaching for the elf’s face. Fenris stared back at him, mouth open, as if in shortness of breath. “Beautiful, Fenris…”

 

The elf turned his face, avoiding his eyes, but placing his ear right in front of his mouth. Garrett took the chance, leaning forward and taking it between his lips, kissing and sucking at the exposed skin.

 

The reaction he got was instantaneous. The elf bucked against him, a long whine escaping his lips. Garrett had to push him against the wall again to keep them both up.

 

He sunk his teeth down and Fenris dug his clawed gauntlets into his shoulder together with a breathy “Hawke!”

 

He had to get them inside his room before they woke up the rest of the house. There was no chance of this happening anywhere outside of his bed. The mage pulled away, leaving Fenris panting against the wall. The elf turned his gaze on him again, cheeks incredibly flushed and his ears moved downwards as he exposed his neck.

 

His hand was on Fenris’ head in a flash, pulling his forward and into a bruising kiss.

 

Garrett knew he had to take it slow. Fenris deserved that, they both deserved that after so many years dancing around each other.

 

“Bed-” he growled, feeling Fenris bucking against him again. The elf closed his eyes, hands tight against his arms, but did not move.

 

“I said-” he tried again, grabbing the elf’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I want you in my bed, Fenris.”

 

He had no wish of forcing Fenris to do anything he did not want. No matter how much Garrett wanted this, Maker, how much he seemed to need it. If the elf would not move, he would stop.

 

“Yes, Hawke.” came a gasped reply, and Hawke took a deep breath, staring at the elf. He did not look like Fenris at all. Gone was the posture, the glare, the way the elf always held himself. The creature in front of him had his eyes open but appeared to not see, was half dressed and panting, Maker, thrusting against him in a display of lack of control Garrett had never been able to imagine with the elf.

 

He pulled him into the room, slamming the door behind them.

  
  


It was surreal having the elf standing in his bedroom. So foreign and yet so exciting. But something was stopping him from just pushing the elf to his bed and have his merry way with him.   
  
Suddenly Fenris’ breathing was heavy and his eyes were watching the room and himself with caution. The control he seemed to have lost was back, and he looked out of place.

 

Hawke moved slowly towards him, not sure if the elf was having second thoughts when he had just told him he wanted this a second ago. His eyes were all over the room, but never once stopped on him.

 

He stepped closer and gently placed his hands on the elf’s arms. Fenris flinched before closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Garrett’s heart broke.  
  
It was impossible to continue at the same rhythm after this. He cupped the elf’s face, leaning closer, holding him in a hug and began to whisper sweet nothings to his ear, lips pressing small kissed over the elf’s hair.

 

When the elf relaxed, he pushed him back, carefully sitting him on the bed, and then climbing to his lap. He kept kissing his neck and shoulders, feeling tension leaving his shoulders as the elf relaxed under his touch.  
  


The elf shook, skin breaking into goosebumps.“Hawke..” He breathed then, adverting his eyes and turning his head, “What... What do you want me to do?”

  
  
“To do?” he echoed his last words in surprise, “I just want you to relax, Fenris. You’re awfully tense. Look at me?”

  
  
There was a moment of confusion and hesitation, but slowly the elf turned his head again and looked right into his eyes. He pressed back a kiss, long and slow, and Garrett continued with his gentle touches, and slowly, so very slowly, Fenris started to relax.

  
  
There were curious hands on chest and hips, followed by even more curious kisses and bites, the mage basked on them all. He wanted the elf to feel comfortable with this.

  
Fenris avoided his eyes when he looked back at him, choosing to stare at his chest or busy himself with the rest of their clothes. But when he didn’t realize Garrett was looking the elf bit his lip, hands curious and tentative, exploring where he could touch.

  
He never had he expected the elf to be so careful.   
  
Fenris even dared to reach out and touch Garrett’s wide chest, with all the hair his elvhen body would never have, so thick it was nearly fur. He saw the tiniest of smirks break the elf’s expression then.

  
But, although he wished for all this gentleness, Garrett grew impatient. The rest of their clothes quickly found their place on the floor next to the bed. And soon there was skin pressed on skin with nothing in between them at all.

 

Fenris was moaning softly, mumbling when he felt Garrett’s large palm around his, already hard, member. This was nothing like the nights that he used to touch himself alone. It was so much more intense.

 

He kept pressing kisses, even taking the elf’s mouth again as he moved them both up the bed and fumbled with his drawer, searching for oil.

  
  
By then Fenris seemed completely relaxed, as if his hands and lips had melted the elf with his touch. He ignored his own body for the moment, reaching lower until he could gently cup the elf in his hand, and use his fingers to slowly prod his entrance.

  
  
The elf tensed up again, lifting his head and looking down between his spread legs, then back up at Garrett, still avoiding his eyes.

  
  
“Is this alright?” Hawke asked, pushing one oiled finger inside the other one with so much care. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

  
  
Fenris let his head flop back down on the pillow, fingers digging into the mattress under him. The elf bit his lip again, causing Hawke to grunt, and then looked down at their joined bodies again.

  
The look on the elf’s face was heated, never changing from before, but there seemed to be a certain uncertainty behind it. Garrett knew it might be too fast, especially for the elf who still pulled back from his kind touches once in a while, and began to pull back.

 

His wrist was caught in the elf’s grip, and he looked back up at his face, startled. “I want this…” he elf almost growled, appearing to be angry at himself for allowing Garrett to doubt him.  
  
The finger was back, and the mage made sure to keep the pace slow, afraid the elf would back out again. The first finger went in easily, making him arch an eyebrow at the elf, who blushed and looked away. He pushed another soon after, holding one leg up and carefully fucking the elf with his fingers. The elf was a groaning mess at that point, panting and casting heated looks at Hawke’s erection. He pushed a third finger inside, this time with some difficulty.

 

Garrett smirked, almost allowing himself to keep teasing the elf. He shifted, holding the elf’s thighs over his, and pressed another finger close. The elf looked up at him again, mouth open as if in shock.

  
The mage chuckled, twisting his fingers and pulling out, forcing a moan from the elf’s lips. He leaned over him, claiming his lips again, hands parting the elf’s legs wider.

  
“I’m ready… I want to...” The elf moaned, eyes practically closed, wrapping his arms around Garrett’s back.

 

The human pressed inside, almost cursing when he the elf shook and his body gave in, almost swallowing him in. He pulled back, wishing to see Fenris’ face.

 

The elf dug his fingers on his arms, staring up at him, eyes wide open, gasping for air as if he could not breathe.

  
  
Garrett groaned deeply, forcing himself deeper, and watched as Fenris’ expression changed from surprised to desperate, legs shaking and the quietest of whimpers escaping his mouth. The elf was so very tight. It almost felt like he was sucking him in even more, greedy and wanting.

  
  
There was rocking and slapping of skin on skin. Slowly at first, as he tried to be gentle. But with every moment passed he wanted more. The elf growled, and there were nails digging into skin, teeth scratching over shoulders, sloppy kisses pressed against his face and beard.

 

And the elf began chanting.

  
 _More more more_.

  
Fenris seemed lost again, holding on the Garrett and the pleaded. His eyes were bright and unseeing, staring blankly at Garrett as he kept pushing and forcing their bodies to join again and again. He grabbed the elf’s hips, leaning for a kiss, and the the elf came between them with a broken gasp, painting his belly with his own fluids, and Garrett, too shocked by what had happened soon shot what he had to give into the slender elf’s body.   
  
Garrett grunted and panted above him, not rolling off him immediately as the elf regained his breath as well. He kept them close, still connected and pressed more kisses against the elf’s face and neck, reaching for the covers as he slowly pulled away.

 

He covered them both as the elf still panted, hands curling around any part of the human he could reach. He let his hand rest over the elf’s hip, now afraid of scaring the elf again if he moved too much.

  
Fenris stared back at him then, meeting his eyes, and reached back as well, finally hiding his head on the man’s neck and sighing, relaxing against him.

 

_______________________________________________◄Δ►_______________________________________________

 

As Reference, Ander corresponds to German, Tevine to Latin (or any pig latin we can use), Antivan to Spanish and Rivaini to Portuguese. Trade is English, of course.

 

Arschloch (German) - Asshole

Não foi isto que te pedi! (Portuguese) - This isn't what I asked for!

Pero es lo que tienes ahora. (Spanish) - But it's what you have now.

Vidro! Sem Valor! (Portuguese) - Glass! Worthless!

Prometeste-me cristal! Não vou regressar ao navio sem pagamento! (Portuguese) - You promised me crystal! I will not return to the ship without payment!


End file.
